


Spell

by IrisPurpurea



Series: Inktober 2018 [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dumbledore’s Army, Fluff, Happy Memories, Harry Is a Great Teacher, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix - Freeform, Missing Moments, Other, Patronus Charm, expecto patronum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 13:57:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17002968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisPurpurea/pseuds/IrisPurpurea
Summary: It looks like they’ve finally found a spell that Hermione can’t do.





	Spell

It looks like someone’s finally invented a spell Hermione Granger can’t do.

Another feeble wisp of silvery smoke puffs from her wand and dissipates into the air. Hermione stamps her foot in frustration, shoving her hair away from her face. The collar of her blouse feels stiff and tight around her neck, she feels flushed and prickly and probably red and quite sure that dwelling on her happiest memories shouldn’t be making her feel so frustrated.

Across the room, a stallion blooms from Ginny’s wand and canters towards the ceiling as she laughs in delight. Fred claps her proudly on the shoulder and George musses her hair until she shoves them both away, giggling. “Fantastic, Ginny!” Harry calls to her. Luna next to her is playing some sort of game with her silver hare. Hermione watches as Harry turns back to Cho, awkwardly guiding her arm with three fingers around her elbow and saying something to her in a low voice. Moments later, a swan bursts from her wand and Harry grins at her, his hand hovering a centimeter over her shoulder as if he’s unsure what to do with it. Cho’s eyes are shining as he gives her another quick smile and walks over to the Patil twins.

Hermione clenches her wand and closes her eyes, rolling her shoulders and trying to breathe deeply. Her chest is tight, her neck straining with the effort. “Come on,” she mutters. “Relax, damn it. Think of… last week, when McGonagall told everyone how brilliant your spellwork was… come on, come on… Expecto Patronum!”

A faint whoosh tells her she was unsuccessful. She sighs and opens her eyes, watching the silvery wisps curl away into nothing. Neville hasn’t produced a corporeal Patronus yet, but he’s barely visible behind a shield of white light, his blurry face screwed up in joy and concentration and effort. The shield vanishes, and Harry just catches him as he stumbles forward. Neville smiles feebly at him, panting from the strain. Even Neville’s closer to a full Patronus than she is.

“Harry! I did it!” There’s a shout from behind her and she spins around to find an ecstatic Ron holding his wand aloft, watching a silver terrier gambol around his head. “Excellent, Ron!” Harry calls to him, just as a giant boar bursts from Ernie MacMillan’s wand. Hermione is startled to feel tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She swipes a hand over her face hastily, taking heaving breaths to calm herself down. What on earth was happening to her?

“Hermione?” Harry’s walking towards her, frowning. “How’re you getting on?”

“Badly,” Hermione sighs, raking her hair back from her face again. “I’ve done loads of NEWT level spellwork, Harry! I’ve done far more intricate magic than this! Why isn’t this working?”

Harry absently runs a hand through his hair. “Well, what’ve you been thinking about? My first time trying, I thought about riding a broom, and it wasn’t nearly strong enough. Maybe that’s your problem.”

“I’ve tried everything! I used to try to levitate books off the top shelf at the library as a girl, I was so pleased when I finally managed it, so I thought about that first. I’ve thought about the Sorting Hat putting me in Gryffindor, McGonagall praising me in class, even… dancing with Viktor at the Yule Ball! And nothing’s working!” She can hear her voice pitching and she winces slightly, but she’s just about fed up with this spell. Harry gives her a sympathetic smile.

“Alright, well, I’m here to help now. So,” he stands beside her, one hand on her shoulder to steady her. “The first thing to do is to just relax.”

“Right, because I hadn’t thought of that before,” she snaps. Harry just grins at her. He seems to be enjoying teaching her how to do something for a change.

“Right, yeah, you’ve never been good at relaxing, have you? But just close your eyes and try. Take a slow breath.”

Hermione does her best to follow his instructions, closing her eyes and breathing deeply, blocking out the rest of the room. The laughter and shouts of her classmates slowly fade away.

“See,” Harry says from far away, “I think your problem is that you’re thinking too hard, Hermione. Lots of complex magic involves focus and concentration, thinking hard enough about something that you will it to happen. But it’s not enough to just think about your memories, focus hard on them, and try to will them into existence. You’ve got to feel them too, feel them filling you up.” When did Harry become so knowledgeable about magical theory? And when did Harry become such a patient teacher?

“And another thing is,” Harry continues, “it doesn’t have to be a specific memory either. It can be a feeling, or a sound, or a face. Mine, well… most of the time, I see you.”

Hermione’s eyes fly open in surprise. Harry looks a little uncomfortable. “Well, you and Ron. When those Dementors attacked me this summer… I thought of you and I thought of Ron, and that’s what made my Patronus so strong.”

“But… how? Harry…” Hermione frowns at him. “I mean, with… well, everything that’s happened to you… how – how do you make it all go away?”

“You mean how can I summon so much happiness when my life is so miserable?” Harry raises an eyebrow at her.

“No! No, I just meant…” Hermione trails off, wincing. “Sorry…”

Harry grins. “It’s okay, I get it.” He thinks for a moment, staring down at his shoes. “Dementors… they don’t just suck the happiness out of you. They… they take away your will to live. They make you feel like… like the best thing to do, the only thing to do… is to give up… and let them take you.”

“Oh, Harry…”

"A Patronus, then,” Harry continues, meeting her eyes, “is made from the things that keep you alive. The things you would fight and die for… the people you love most in the world.”

“So, think of… something like that. It doesn’t have to be specific. It doesn’t have to be detailed. Just focus on something that keeps you alive. And try again.”

Hermione feels tears stinging her eyes again. Harry’s hand is still firm on her shoulder, and she brings her free hand to it. Harry gives her a fond smile. “Come on, Hermione. You’re not going to lose to Zacharias Smith, now, are you?”

Hermione laughs, squeezing his hand. She understands now, she thinks. Because Harry, who watched Cedric Diggory die, who barely survived a duel with Lord Voldemort mere months ago, who’s been disparaged and demonized and tortured all year, can still call upon such a profound happiness within him that he can cast a Patronus with ease. She needed something powerful, something that flooded her with deep, primal joy. Something that keeps her alive.

She nods at Harry and closes her eyes and imagines the faces of Harry and Ron. Running to embrace them after waking up in the Hospital Wing and learning that they had defeated the Basilisk. Rolling her eyes at their grateful exclamations as she pulls their astronomy essays across the table to read over them. Grasping Ron’s hand tightly for what seemed like hours after Harry and Cedric’s body fell from the maze, his other arm set firmly around her shoulders as they sat at Harry’s bedside. Surprising even herself by kissing Harry on the cheek as they parted ways at King’s Cross station.

Then Ginny’s face swims into view, sitting with her on the train as they wondered where Harry and Ron were, sprawling across her bed as she complains about how obtuse Harry can be. Ginny flinging her arms around her when she turned up at Grimmauld Place over Christmas. Then Fred and George are there, each pulling her into a hug as soon as Ginny lets go of her, playing with Crookshanks, teaching her to play Gobstones. Then her parents are embracing her as she leaves King’s Cross, laughing as they pull her to her feet in the snow. Warmth courses through her.

Her mind wanders back to a few weeks ago, an afternoon spent in the bright, newly scrubbed and decorated kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Warmth, laughter, and people she loves. The Weasleys, Harry, Sirius, Remus, and even Mad-Eye Moody crowded around the table for a proper feast, their first since Arthur came home from St. Mungo’s. Sirius’s booming laughter, Ginny and Harry chatting about Quidditch, Fred and George feeding Crookshanks bits of turkey. Arthur brushing Molly’s hair behind her ear and whispering to her when he thought no one could see them, making her giggle and blush. Ron’s shoulder brushing against hers every now and then, both of them jumping apart when their fingers touch.   
Hermione can feel herself beginning to smile, Harry squeezing her shoulder. “Go on,” he whispers.

She opens her eyes, her heart swelling fit to burst. She whispers it, as though her bubble may break if she spoke too loudly. Expecto Patronum.

Silver smoke billows from her wand and solidifies into a slim, fluid shape. An otter swims around her head as she looks on, astonished. “I did it! I got it!” Harry pats her on the shoulder. “Excellent, Hermione, well done!”

“An otter,” she whispers to herself. Her favorite animal to watch at the zoo as a child, graceful and intelligent. Of course, it had to be an otter.

It’s different, she knows, in this bright, warm room full of people. It’s not the same as facing down a real Dementor. Hermione still doesn’t know what it’s like to have to search for happiness and cling to it in the face of insurmountable darkness long enough to shield yourself from despair. And there’s a war on, and her best friend is caught in the middle of it, and Hermione may have to face that darkness soon. But this…

Ron’s silver terrier gallops towards her, chasing her otter to the ceiling. Ron runs to her side in pursuit of it and they laugh, watching the otter swim around a chandelier, the terrier stumbling after it. Their fingers brush as the silver shapes twist and fade in midair.

This is definitely a start.

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a series of fics inspired by the Inktober 2018 prompts. Day 4: Spell.


End file.
